Puberty Or, At Least I Don't Have To
by embrace-your-inner-dork
Summary: Even our favourite bunch of Slytherins were adolescents once. Now we get to laugh at their expense! Rated for language and crude humour.


**A/N:** Okay, so my first real HP fic that I'm actually confident enough in to post online. :P The basic plot comes from Emmylou's loverly plot threads on FA. 1118. Write a series of one-shots called 'Puberty' detailing the first time your favourite male characters had to shave (although in Dumbledore's case one wonders if he ever began), or the 'first period experiences' of your favourite female characters…or both. However, I did take a bit of license and go beyond shaving and periods. :P This, of course, came about because I have a filthy mind. So, um, enjoy? XDDD

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_How the blooming hell…?_

Millicent Bulstrode gawked at herself in the mirror. She could not believe what her eyes were telling her. Or the mirror itself, for that matter.

"My, my, haven't we suddenly bloomed?" the mirror quipped. Mil was ready to punch the glass in. That is, she would if she could tear her eyes away long enough. It made no sense whatsoever. Sure, she knew about puberty. She was twelve-and-a-half, after all. And she had grown some; she had developed enough to have started her period at the ripe old age of ten. But this…

The mirror tutted. "Now, now. Don't become obsessed with yourself, dear."

Oh, Mil bloody hated that mirror.

She was just…tired, that was it. She was tired and imagining that her training bra had split down the middle, that her clothes weren't fitting right, that her back hurt like nobody's ruddy business. And yet…

It sort of made sense, she supposed…but at the same time, it was baffling. She was a witch, after all. Hair grows amazingly fast overnight…but this was taking it a bit too far, as far as she was concerned.

Much too far.

Because tits are not hair.

And literally overnight, Mil had ended up with what was likely the biggest pair of tits in the entire bleeding school.

This, of course, meant that she would fall victim to both genders' sides of the rumour mill throughout at least all of Slytherin House. She also had to get all-new clothes, be even more aggressive to ward off anyone who tries to make any advances, generally have everyone stare at her…

Eyes still nearly wide enough to compete with her newfound…ahem…blessings, she made a mental note to add yet another part of puberty onto her ongoing list of why she'd much rather be a bloke.

But, on second thought, maybe that wouldn't be such a bright idea either. As she thought about it, Mil decided that maybe…oh bollocks, she wasn't sure. _Pros and cons, Mil, think of the pros and cons…_She tried to come up with at least one good reason why she shouldn't go right that instant and find a way to transfigure herself male.

_Well_, she weakly managed after a bit of pondering, _at least I don't have to shave._

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Draco Malfoy stood, pale and trembling, in front of the washroom mirror. In his hand, he grasped a device that could either help or hurt his supposed good looks. There were no two ways around it.

He had to take the chance.

_But what if it leaves scars? What if I accidentally slit my throat? What if…?_

"Need help, Draco?" The voice startled Draco, and he inadvertently chucked the dreaded razor backwards. Blaise Zabini grinned and slipped in the door, dodging the projectile with ease. Like Draco, he had the beginnings of facial hair. Unlike his chalk-white companion, however, Blaise had not a razor, but his wand in hand.

Draco immediately collected himself, acting as if that little outburst hadn't happened at all. Blaise chuckled.

He knew the routine.

Jumping in before the young master could say anything, he brought the wand to his face. The darker boy motioned for Draco to come closer. Young Malfoy caught the gesture and moved down, but not before a good-natured snicker at _Mil Bulstrode has big tits_ scrawled on the other end of the mirror.

"Can't remember which one of my so-called fathers I got it from, but it comes in handy. Now, watch," he nodded, "and learn. Exfolio mentum!" In a flash of light, Blaise's face was as smooth as a baby's bottom. He quirked an eyebrow at Draco. "Now you try."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Try? You dare say I wouldn't get it right?" Haughtily, he turned to the mirror and pulled his own wand out of his pocket, razor sitting forgotten on the floor.

He probably wished he'd paid more attention to the spell.

"Extollo mentum!" the blond boy fumbled, and instantly his chin was not only_not_ smooth, but now brightly decorated with colour splotches and glitter.

"Don't worry, it never happened," Blaise said, motioning locking his mouth shut. "Code of honour. And anyway, it could be worse."

"How?"

"Well, you could be a girl."

Draco frowned, muttering about how Blaise had better have a counter-spell pretty damned quickly. He sighed in exasperation. "I don't see what that has to do with anything, but I suppose you're right. At least I'm not, um, bleeding out of my privates."

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Pansy Parkinson threw herself out of the stall in melodramatic despair. Her entire world was crashing around her. Life as she knew it was over. What a way to find out you're fatally diseased! She slumped against the wall and started whimpering.

"I'm bleeding! I'm hemorrhaging!" she wailed. "Help me, I'm dying!"

Daphne Greengrass came out of another stall and stared at Pansy. Over the tap, she asked what was wrong—and she was pretty sure she knew what it was.

"It's horrible!" Pansy nearly screamed. "I feel like someone used the Cruciatus curse on my insides, and I've been having cravings for fattening foods, and I've been crying and yelling every other sentence without meaning to, and—now! Oh, now I find blood all over—pouring out of me—I'm dying, Daphne!"

Daphne only kept staring, turning off the tap calmly. "Pansy, do you mean to tell me that you know about the Cruciatus but you don't know about puberty?" Waiting for Pansy to respond, the other girl turned to the mirror and did a quick Concealing Charm to cover up the spots on her face. She'd already tipped off Draco to the useful charm, since it appeared his face had been hit by a charm-gone-wrong.

Pansy attempted to look like she knew what she was talking about. "My mother told me about lovemaking," she insisted.

Turning away from the mirror, Daphne frowned. "And she didn't tell you about this." Pansy shook her head. The other girl rolled her eyes. "Of course. Well, then I take it she told you how a woman gets pregnant?"

"Yes. So? I'm not pregnant, am I? No! I can't be pregnant! I haven't done anything—not yet! But, wait! What if--?"

"No. If you have this, it's a sign that you're healthy, you're becoming a woman, and that you're _not_ pregnant."

Pansy paled. "This…this is healthy?"

"Yes, now if you would just let me finish—"

"Wait! Why should I trust you? How do you know this and I don't? We're the same age!"

Daphne buried her face in her hands. This was going to take a while. She took a deep breath and carried on, slowly, deliberately, patiently, and wondering how the hell she got caught up in this.

"…and that's what's happening, and what's going to happen every month for a long time," Daphne finished. Pansy, increasingly out of character by the minute, stood there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

"You're kidding me, Greengrass."

"Afraid not."

Her face screwed up again, ready to wail. "That's even worse than I thought!"

Daphne smirked. "But that isn't the half of it. Be glad you're not a boy. I mean, we may get this once a month, but…at least we don't get random boners."

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Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were exceedingly uncomfortable.

Now, neither of them had the slightest clue why they were together in a broom closet. The last thing either of them remembered was eating chocolate cakes that some poor sap left out.

But, there they were, on top of each other in a broom closet.

And phooey that Vince had to wake up and find himself like this; he had been having a very nice dream, too. Pity.

Greg, who was on top of Vince, opened his mouth to speak…but then thought better of it. His voice would crack if he did that. Ah, did that grunt come in handy though.

"You know, Vince," he grumbled, "you make weird sounds in your sleep."

Vince screwed up his face in confusion, possibly trying to keep his face from flushing. "Mmh? I do?"

Greg nodded. "Yeh. Kind of creeped me out. So, um…" the shorter one frowned, "if we're gonna be stuck like this, could you at least shove your wand someplace else? It's poking my leg."

"What d'you mean, Greg? I haven't got my wand."

"You, um, haven't?"

"Nope. Left it in the dorm before supper."

There was an uncomfortable silence, in which both boys tried to shift positions a bit so that they could at least tell whose arms or legs were whose. In the shuffling, Vince finally noticed what the problem was.

This, of course, was a bit too late, as Greg took that same moment to grab the 'wand.'

"This is what's been poking me!" he realized, not noticing what 'it' was or how him grabbing 'it' was affecting his best friend. Vince tried to get a word in edgewise, but Greg was set on getting the stupid thing out of the way—so he gave it a firm yank.

A yelp, shout, and bonk on the head later, the two somehow rolled out of the closet and landed at Draco's feet. The pale boy frowned—what was this? His friends/bodyguards together in a closet? Granted, one was curled up in the fetal position and apparently trying to hold back tears of pain, while the other one had the look on his face of not knowing what the hell had just gone on. But still, it was odd. Odder than Pansy's sudden mood swings and chocolate binges, even.

"I was only getting something out of my way," Greg defended himself. "I have no clue why—" He stopped mid-sentence as a shamefaced Vince managed to stand up. That explained it. "…Oh. Uhm, sorry."

Draco smirked. "Stomachache, eh? Pathetic excuse, Crabbe. Seriously. If that was your problem, you could've told me. Come on, I know a way to get rid of those." He motioned for the other two to follow him back to the dorm, though he couldn't exactly expect them to be too fast about it. "Hey, at least it didn't happen in class."

"And be glad you've only got one weak spot," Greg added, helping Vince along. "I mean, you could be a girl. They've got loads of weak spots…like their tits. Yeah. At least we don't have tits."

-END-


End file.
